


Gentle

by 13atoms (2Atoms)



Category: The Great (TV 2020)
Genre: Confessions, F/M, First Times, Fluff, barely smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:23:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27643408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2Atoms/pseuds/13atoms
Summary: Request: serf!MC being with Orlo in secret. You already hear jokes he's a virgin, so felt more comfortable because so are you. When things get heated and you find out he's not so he's incredibly gentle and takes it very slow.
Relationships: Orlo (The Great TV 2020)/Original Female Character(s), Orlo (The Great TV 2020)/You
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	Gentle

Even after all your months of sneaking away there, the plushness of Orlo’s rooms never ceased to impress you. As he guided you down gently on his bed, you couldn’t imagine what damage he was afraid of doing to you, his soft mattress giving beneath your weight as he stabilised himself.

Then, he kissed you. Not chaste, or shy, like the kisses you exchanged as goodbyes or in secret corners of the library. He had been kissing you with passion and intent since you had appeared long after midnight, creeping into his room when you had finally been able to sneak from your post in the raging banquet. The party clean-up would have to happen without you, a certain aristocrat had promised you an evening exploring one another’s bodies, his words teasing after days apart.

“I have missed you,” he’d mumbled that morning, “and I would like to show you how much.”

The Count had pulled you aside in the entryway as you crossed paths and ducked into the hidden servants’ corridors for just long enough to exchange words. Servants brushed past your hiding spot, turning a blind eye as he rushed his words to you.

“I think I would like that.”

You’d had to rush your exchange, hoping no one would notice the soft kiss he pressed to your cheek, the way he clutched both of your hands in his own, eyes wide with sincerity. This illicit dalliance was secret, but fiery, burning hot and passionate. Things had been escalating between you and the Count ever since you had moved on from your friendship, declared your mutual affections for one another and fallen dangerously fast. You had not indulged in one another’s bodies yet, but you knew both of you could hardly wait.

To shorten the wait, Orlo had seemed willing to take a risk. He had begged to see you in semi-public, so desperate for your company he would risk the whispers of the servants who glanced at your controversial pairing.

“Come to my apartments later.” Orlo had said. “I can hardly wait.”

You were able only to nod, jaw halfway dropped. Then he was already rushing away, squeezing your hand one last time before backing out into the light of the palace, blinking against the brightness you were denied in the servant’s quarters.

Like the sun beams which streamed through the palace windows, Orlo dazzled you. You had no hesitations dashing to his rooms the second your duties were done with, begging your friends to cover for you if you absence was noticed. All so you could have as much time as you needed with the man who had captured far more than your attention.

You had tried to swallow down the surge of your heart each time you saw his doors. Today, that feeling had blended with lust, and longing. Even his usual polite greeting, the conversations about your day, were waylaid by your shared desire. He barely mumbled a hello to your lips before he began to divest himself of his clothes.

Everything moved so fast, except his lips on yours. He kissed you so luxuriously you felt drunk, mind blank against his bed, his shirt hanging open and trousers undone as he reached for your bodice. His body was warm above you, heavy as he leant you back, kissing with far more experience than you had anticipated.

Far more confident than you were, with your lack of previous experience.

“God, Orlo,” you groaned

You had to tell him.

“Fuck, I want you,” he mumbled against your lips, hands trailing your body in frustration as he failed to find the opening of your dress.

You wanted him too. Beyond all reason and beyond all worries about being caught, or being heartbroken, or your differing status, you wanted him.

But there was something keeping you still, stopping you from reciprocating more than his kissing as he pinned you beneath him, making you break out in goosebumps from your fear.

You didn’t know what to do.  
Orlo’s movements grew more insistent, experimental caresses and squeezes of your body, and you felt helpless, unable to reciprocate. As his lips met your neck, you summoned the courage to speak.

“I’m afraid I have no experience,” you whispered, fighting the urge to gasp as his hand caressed your waist. “So we are both new to this.”

The soft smile which spread across his face almost stopped your heart. His eyes were warm with affection and the flickering of the candlelight, free from the glasses he wore during the day so you could kiss him, again and again. Without that damn glass in the way you could see every emotion which played across his face, with no wire to hide the quirk of his eyebrow or the widening of his eyes. Now you could read his slight amusement, appearing alongside his lust and affection.

“You believe the jests at Court, love?”

His gentle voice pulled you from your lust-filled daze for a moment, and you found your eyebrows drawn together in a confused frown, conflicting his gentle smile.

“I had… I do not understand.”

“I fear I’m not as completely innocent as their words might suggest.”

Oh.

There was an almost devilish look on his face, a sliver of pride you felt amused by. Self-awareness crept in too, like in the moments when you were forced to serve him at meals, a reminder of your inequality.

“Oh! I thought… I suppose am alone in my inexperience,” you mumbled.

Embarrassment dragged down your elation, pulled your confidence down further, driving you to pull your hands from their position on his torso. Had you done it wrong? If Orlo was not learning too, he would recognise mistakes made in your ignorance.

“How many?”

You knew you had no reason to sound so disappointed, so afraid. Orlo was the loveliest man you’d ever met, your closest friend. You trusted him completely. And yet your voice came out quiet, broken.

You hoped Orlo couldn’t hear, but of course he knew. So astute, tuned to reading your body language, your tone. Compared to the complex prose he adored, you supposed your blatant insecurity must be as legible as a child’s bedtime story.

“One. We were childhood sweethearts, grew up together. We got together when we were just kids, really. Knew each other… before she went away to be married.”

He smiled fondly at the memories, and your heart pulled at the thought of a younger man, stumbling and new to everything, all awkward adolescence. You felt no jealousy. No bad blood. You were glad for his happiness, however fleeting it had been.

“Forever ago,” he added, sincerely. “She’s a penpal, now. Nothing more. I swear”

“I wasn’t worried,” you admitted. You had never doubted his fidelity. “Just… surprised.”

Orlo raised his eyebrows, looking a little offended, and you rushed to amend your words.

“You never correct people, when they joke.”

“I would rather have them spouting falsehoods, than prying further into what I do…”

The rough material of your serf’s clothing beneath your body reminded you of what he had to hide, his interest in keeping himself wrapped in untruths. Those shallow dents to his reputation were like pellets bouncing off a shield, keeping the pair of you safe.

“Does it bother you?”

You were surprised by his question, but not by the insecurity which drove it. He was watching your face, desperate for a cue that you felt some way about this revelation, watching for hesitance or upset.

“That you are not a virgin?”

He laughed, when you stated the question so obviously. In this madhouse, with orgies in the corridors and cum-stained skirts, how could you possibly be bothered? Supposedly being a virgin had made him a court jester, it was so uncommon for a man.

“Not remotely! I am only frustrated by my own inexperience. That I will be a disappointment,” you confessed.

“Never, love. We can go slow, I can guide you. If I remember how, it has been a while, in truth.”

He was bashful, fingers tangling in your hair as he looked to your lips, before his gaze flickered back to your widened eyes. His joking tone betrayed insecurity, and you felt suddenly comforted by how he desperately sought out your approval, feared your rejection.

You reached for his hand, squeezing it.

A nagging feeling pursued you, the sensation that you had somehow misstepped.

“Are you upset, then, that I assumed the rumours about you to be truth?”

Orlo shook his head, amused, his smile falling as he ducked down to capture your lips with his own.

“We ought to have had this conversation earlier, I think,” he told you, when he broke apart from you, “but I assure you, nothing has changed about my desire for you.”

One hand left your face, and Orlo trailed his fingers so lightly down the column of your neck it almost tickled, stopping the instant his thumb hit your collarbone.

His touch set your skin on fire, you were desperate for him to go further, run his hands over your body, and yet your fear held you back. You stared up at him, trying to read his face, to tell him what you wanted. His lips were parted, a kind of awe on his features, open and unguarded as his hands stilled.

Was he truly disappointed? Lying to spare your feelings? Should you be doing more?  
It had made you feel safe, when you had imagined the two of you were on even footing, in just this one thing. Your hands remined where it was safe, pressed to the bed and feeling nothing but the sheets. You didn’t dare to assume where you could touch him.

Was that wrong?  
Orlo was still watching you, his fingers distracting you as they stroked across the skin of your neck, such an innocent gesture taking up far more of your attention than it ought to. You felt a flush of guilt at how the sensation made you want him.

“Are you okay?”

“Please, be gentle.”

The words fell from your mouth before you could assess how pathetic they felt against your ears, and you closed your eyes against his judgement.

Stupid.  
“Of course.”

Orlo’s lips touched to your forehead, before he rolled to your side on the bed, resting against the sheets.

“We do not have to do this at all, in fact. You seem… uneasy.”

“Nervous,” you corrected him, “Only nervous.”

“Me too.”

You scoffed, making Orlo return with a small sound of mock outrage.

“I am!” He insisted. “I haven’t taken another woman since my arrival at the palace! Perhaps I will be terrible, so much time has passed!”

You rolled your eyes at him fondly, resting your head on the pillow to gaze into his eyes, feeling suddenly safer as his adoring look mirrored your own.

“It does not matter if you are terrible. I only want to be with you,” you felt embarrassment hot on your face at the admission.

He would not find your words too terribly embarrassing and juvenile, you hoped. You were speaking nothing but the truth. With a groan so gentle it hardly reached your ears, Orlo closed the gap between you.

“You are all I want too,” he swore, “if you will relearn alongside me?”

“There is nothing I want more,” you promised, already reaching back to undo the pesky buttons of your dress.


End file.
